The Woman with the Voice
by Novum-Semita
Summary: After an attack from a mysterious group of masked assassins leaves her with nothing but her magic and a head full of broken memories how will she start to rebuild her life. And who is Malkir? Why does that name mean so much? Read on and find out. FemaleDovahkiin/Lydia F/F
1. Prologue

It was dark in the chamber. No fires burned and the only source of light was a pool of crystalline water which stood in an ornately carved basin. The basin stood on four clawed feet and before it stood a large throne wrought of ebony. The throne did not look like it was made with the occupant's comfort in mind for the heavy black metal was worked into ridged spikes along the armrests and the back curved up in a serpentine manner, adorned with more spikes and jagged edges. The throne was occupied and cold restless eyes scanned the edges of the expansive room. Just beyond the figure's line of sight robed figures stood yet he knew they were there.

"Viddis." He spoke in soft levelled tones yet his voice carried to the edges of the vast room. One of the robed figures stepped forwards. His face was carefully hidden behind a mask of bone and he bowed respectfully when he reached the throne.

"Seddir-Ja," he continued, "Voraiss." His voice was cold and sibilant and when he paused at each name it was easy to imagine his tongue flickering out in a serpentine manner, tasting the air.  
Two more robed figures joined the first and they too bowed before the throne.

"Look behind you, at the pool, and tell me…what do you see?" he asked in what was almost a lazy tone, pointing at the basin behind them. They turned to look and their eyes smarted beneath their masks as the comparatively bright light from the water met their eyes. As their eyes grew accustomed to the light the water before them began to cloud over, swaying gently although there was no wind to stir it. As it cleared they saw a stony edifice resting at the summit of a lofty hill. It was surrounded by high stone walls.

"That is Whiterun," said Viddis, pointing at the pool.

"Yes, recognize it, don't you?" replied the figure, "You've been there before if I recall correctly so getting your bearings once you arrive shouldn't be a problem."

"Is that where they've located her?" Seddir-Ja spoke up. Her scaly tail arched impatiently as she regarded the water.

"Not quite," replied the figure, "But that is where she is headed. They've predicted that she will reach Whiterun by tomorrow evening. Look upon the water again."

The water swirled and the image melted away before reforming a moment later. This time a winding hairpin road built into a slope appeared before them.

"That is the ambush point," the figure continued, "Your timing here is crucial. There must be no slip ups. But don't underestimate her; she possesses powerful magic abilities. Some of these she has yet to become aware of but those she is aware of make her someone not to underestimate."

"My Lord, we will not fail you," said Voraiss, a tall swarthy skinned Altmer as he took a step towards the throne, "My lightning bolts will bring her to her knees before she has a chance to speak." His voice was haughty and his manner was smug.

"No, Voraiss," said the figure coldly, "You are not to use spells. Foolish elf, if we are too obvious and brash in our methods, the empire will grow suspicious. Ulfric's untimely rebellion hasn't exactly helped that."

Ulfric's rebellion was common knowledge throughout Skyrim. In recent years, following the Great War between Man and Mer, the Nords' perception of the Empire was shifting, splitting Skyrim down the middle. Half the land were content to remain under Imperial rule while the other half, angered by the signing of the White-Gold Concordat and the outlawing of Talos worship, fell under Ulfric's ranks after the murder of the High King at his hands in Solitude. Since the rebellion the Empire's presence in Skyrim had increased significantly and their soldiers grew restless at the first signs of conflict.

"Then how, my Lord, do we bring her down?" asked Voraiss. The figure waved one black gloved hand and something whistled through the air, hurtling towards Voraiss. He ducked on instinct but when nothing more happened he raised his head. Hovering before him was a dagger. The hilt was covered with what looked like scales and a red orb was set into the pommel. The blade appeared to be made from bone and thin lines were etched into its surface, running the full length of it.  
"Use this," instructed the figure. Voraiss hesitated.  
"Go on, take it," he said, "Or don't. There are others who would be more than happy to take your place." Voraiss frowned, reaching out and grasping the hilt, pulling it from the air.  
"Now go," said the figure, "Take the night passage and remember, it has taken us months to locate this girl so failure is not an option.

* * *

As Mid Year approached the nights grew to their mildest and the crops swayed in the cool night breeze as the wagon made its way along the winding road. The figure sitting at the front shivered, pulling her cloak tighter about herself, fingering the amulet at her neck. She looked across the plains at where the city sat nestled in the rolling green grasslands. Rising up from it was the mighty edifice of Dragonsreach, perched atop the hill like the dragon from which it took its name.

"How much further?" growled a voice behind her. An old Breton with wispy white hair, wearing worn merchant's clothes joined her at the front of the wagon.

"Not much further, Malkir," replied the woman, "There's Dragonsreach. We can't be more than a mile away. And didn't you mention a meadery at the bottom of this very hill? Honningbrew, wasn't it?" At these words the surly expression vanished from the Breton's face, replaced by a nostalgic faraway look.

"Ahh, honningbrew, it's been far too long since I last tasted such fine mead," he said.

"Well, why don't we make a quick stop there and get a few bottles," suggested the woman. The old Breton smiled.

"Yeah, why not?" he said, "A good bottle of mead is exactly what I need to get some warmth back into these old bones." Suddenly his smile vanished as he looked at the road ahead, "Hmph, looks like we've got trouble. Brechtje, ready a ward, just in case." Brechtje followed his gaze, spotting three figures in the gloom ahead. They had appeared so swiftly and silently that the night might have conjured them up.

"Is there any way we can avoid them?" asked Brechtje. Malkir shook his head.

"Terrain's too rough to make a detour here and we can't afford to turn back," he replied, "It took me too long to clean and prepare those furs and Zenithar knows we need the money those pelts will rake in." Brechtje took a breath, summoning her will as a halo of light formed around her palm. Malkir drew a steel dagger from his belt as they neared the figures who were now standing directly before them, blocking their path. The firelight from Malkir's torch shone on the bone masks the robed figures wore.

"Let us pass," said Malkir as they approached, "We want no trouble."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," said one of the figures, an Argonian judging by the tail that protruded from the small of her back, "We need to have a little word with Brechtje." Brechtje gasped. How did that Argonian woman know her name? To her knowledge she'd never met nor had any dealings with Argonians. She had of course heard of them; they were the lizard people of Black Marsh. And what was with the masks?

"Who are you?" asked Brechtje, "And how do you know my name?"

"We know more than just your name," said another of the robed figures, an Altmer, "You are the one we seek. As to why? It would be unfair to burden a doomed mind with such knowledge."

"What are you talking about?" asked Malkir, raising the dagger, "What do you plan to do to Brechtje?" The Altmer flicked his wrist and Malkir tensed up, struggling as invisible bonds rooted him to the spot.

"Fine then, old man, we'll make it simple so your aged mind will understand," said the Argonian, "Brechtje is in the way of our master's plans so we have been instructed to eliminate her." She nodded to the Altmer, "Waste no more time, Voraiss, do it."

Brechtje readied her magicka, flames leaping from her palm as the Altmer approached. He drew a dagger and held it before him. Brechtje released a gout of flame and the Altmer ran towards the flames conjuring a ward. The bright light burst through the flames and the blade rushed towards her chest. She dodged to the right and the Altmer followed, flanked on either side by the Argonian and the Nord. She released spell after spell. The fire spell caught the Nord in the chest and sent him flying backward while the other two kept chase.

The Altmer grinned smugly, "You might have taken Viddis but you're still outnumbered. Seddir-Ja, disarm her." The Argonian gathered a purple light around her palms and took aim, unleashing the spell. It caught Brechtje full in the chest, throwing her to the ground. She clutched at her chest as the spell burned and she felt her will weaken. She got to her feet with difficulty, breathing heavily. She tried to ready a ward but the magic fizzled and flickered. She tried again as the Altmer charged at her, thrusting the dagger before him.

"BRECHTJE!" cried Malkir, "GET OUT OF THERE!" Brechtje looked up and met the eyes of her attacker, throwing herself to one side as the blade slashed inches from her face. She crashed into a tree, quickly regaining her balance and sprinting off. She heard the sound of splintering wood behind her as the dagger cut through the bark. She ran back towards the wagon where she tugged at Malkir but he could not move. The spell held him fast. She tried to break the spell but her magicka fizzled out once more.

"Brechtje, get out of here," said Malkir, "There's nothing you can do."

"But," began Brechtje, her heart beating frantically in her chest.

"Go, now, or they'll kill us both," replied Malkir. He spotted the Altmer running towards them. "GO NOW!" he yelled. Brechtje ran, sprinting off down the hill.

Suddenly the Altmer materialized before her and she dodged, taking another path. But soon he appeared before her again, forcing her to change direction once more.

'He's toying with me.' The grim realisation swept through her.

The Altmer grinned. Now he had her. As a hunter stalks a deer in the forest, she was trapped.

Brechtje took a step backward and felt the yawning gap behind her. It was the river. She could no longer see the road or the wagon…or Malkir. She was lost.

"Now I have you," grinned the Altmer, "You've given us quite the run around, Nord. I advise you submit to your fate. Little mess and we can give what's left to you back to your old friend. That is, if Viddis and Seddir-Ja aren't having too much fun with him. Brechtje trembled as he took a step towards her. Her thoughts were racing. None of this made sense. Why did they want her? And why kill her? What had she done? She looked behind her and a grim thought passed over her. The rushing water surged beneath her, roaring in her ears. She couldn't think clearly.

"Don't even think about it," said the Altmer, following her gaze, "I don't fancy your chances. Best just let me finish my job. It'll be quicker than getting battered to bits." He raised the dagger. In that instant as the light from Masser glinted off the blade, Brechtje's mind made itself up and she turned, leaping from the cliff. Gravity took hold and she began to fall. She heard the Altmer behind her yell and something white hot pierced her back. Then her vision went black and her body fell limp as she broke the surface of the water. The Altmer cursed under his breath and turned on his heel. Something crunched beneath his boot as he stormed off, leaving the girl to her fate.


	2. Memory

It was quiet and still but not as cold as she had expected. No, in fact it was quite warm and the longer she remained, the warmer it became. She gradually became aware of a soft sound. The gentle roar of a small fire, crackling nearby. The black of her vision slowly lightened as she drifted between sleep and waking. She cracked open one blue eye and quickly closed it as the light of the fire nearly blinded her. This wasn't Sovngarde. But then where was she? She opened her eyes again, more cautiously this time and found herself lying in a tent on a rug next to a crackling fire. A pot stood over the fire. She heard footsteps and quickly shut her eyes, feigning unconsciousness as the figure approached. The figure knelt next to her and another joined the first.

"Has she awoken yet?" asked a husky, thickly accented voice.

"No, Ma'randru-jo," replied another lighter voice, "She's got a deep wound in her back. And so many bruises. I've done what I can. Now it's up to her." She heard retreating footsteps as Ma'randru-jo left. Slowly Brechtje became aware of a dull pain creeping along her spine. She gritted her teeth as a cool breeze blew in through the tent flap, making the wound throb unpleasantly. Slowly she opened her eyes again. Someone was kneeling next to her. Whoever she was, she wore a long dress and a pair of worn boots. All exposed areas of her body were covered in brindled fur and as her gaze travelled up the figure they came to rest on a pair of amber eyes which stood out of the silhouette of the Khajiiti woman's face against the red morning sky.

"Ahh, you're awake," she said when their eyes met, "I was starting to think you were never going to." Brechtje blinked a few times. Her whole body felt tired and even raising her head was an effort. She laid her head back down on the rug. The Khajiiti woman watched her calmly as she drifted in and out of sleep. It was to be expected after all. She could hardly expect her to sit up and speak after such an ordeal. She looked out of the tent flap as the sun rose over the walled city. Another Khajiit, a silver male, sat cross legged on a rush mat in front of a larger tent while another Khajiit, a chestnut furred female clad in steel armour stood by the tanning rack. She was eating pink and red tinged crystals. The Khajiiti woman hissed under her breath as she got up and left the tent, approaching the Khajiiti warrior.

"Kayla," she snapped, "What do you think you're doing?"

"The guards have their eyes elsewhere," replied Kayla calmly, "They did not see Kayla."

"That's not the point," said the Khajiiti woman, "You heard what Ri'Saad said yesterday. It could be another season before we get another shipment. We need to ration it. Do you want to start getting the shakes before winter's even begun?" Kayla growled under her breath but stowed the small bowl in a large burlap sack.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath before returning to her post.

Towards evening Brechtje awoke again. The Khajiiti woman was standing by the pot, stirring the contents with a large wooden ladle. She watched her for a few moments before attempting to speak.

"Where…where am I?" she asked slowly. The Khajiit's ears swivelled in her direction and the she turned to face her. "Ahh, you're finally awake, little Northling," she said as she knelt down beside her, "You are in our camp, just outside Whiterun. This one found you drifting down by the river. You were so battered we did not know if you would live. Brechtje slowly pushed herself up into a kneeling position, grunting as a burning discomfort erupted across her back.

"Careful," said the Khajiiti woman, "You are still wounded. Keep your movements small for now." Brechtje nodded, breathing deeply as she waited for the pain to subside before speaking.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Atahbah," replied the Khajiit, "A Khajiit merchant. And who are you?"

Brechtje thought for a moment. Who was she? She frowned, creasing her brow. Then it slowly rose to the surface of her mind like a bubble of marsh gas.

"Brechtje," she said

"Do you think you can tell Atahbah how you ended up in the river?" Brechtje thought for a moment then shook her head.

"No, I can't remember," she said, "Except that my back felt like it was on fire."

"That would probably be because of this," said Atahbah, reaching for a piece of folded cloth at her side. She unfolded it and on the cloth lay a dagger. The hilt was covered in what appeared to be brass scales and a black orb was set into the pommel. The blade was long and etched with fine weaving patterns. Brechtje looked at the dagger lying on the cloth and her back throbbed as if in response. She shivered in spite of the warm fire crackling in the fire pit.

"Someone…tried to kill me?" she said in disbelief. Atahbah nodded.

"We found this embedded in your back," she explained, "You will have a scar there and it will take time to heal properly." Brechtje reach behind her and her fingers collided with rough bandages. Atahbah stayed her hand.

"Better that you do not touch it," she said, "It took this one some time to stop the bleeding and for a time the wound would not cauterize properly."

"But why would anyone want to kill me?" she asked. Atahbah shook her head.

"This one does not know," she replied, "It may have been bandits. Or thieves. The roads of Skyrim are dangerous since the war began." She fell silent as the tent flap opened and a male Khajiit with grey fur and a brown mane entered.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She is doing better," replied Atahbah, "But she remembers little about what happened." The Khajiit regarded her with a sharp blue gaze.

"Do you remember anything from before the accident?" he asked, "Were you with anyone?"

"I…Malkir," said Brechtje, "But I can't remember much." She paused, "I…don't remember much of anything. I…what happened to my memories?" Her hands curled into fists on her lap. Everything felt hazy, fuzzy. She knew where she was, her name and her magic but little else. There were a few fleeting memories, like the shimmer of a fish's scales beneath the water before it flicks its tail, darting out of sight beneath the murky waters.

"Calm down," said Atahbah gently. She turned to the Khajiit, "Perhaps now is not the time for questions, Ma'randru-jo." He left and a moment later Atahbah followed.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, "In this state she has virtually no existence."

"Atahbah, this one knows what you are thinking and the answer is no," replied Ma'randru-jo.

"But what will she do here?" asked Atahbah, "She has no home and very little coin. I searched her pockets when you brought her in. She has a couple of healing potions and a small purse that doesn't even hold enough for a loaf of bread, let alone shelter."

"Atahbah," said Ma'randru-jo, "I know how you feel. Ever since M'Dar…" A snarl rose in Atahbah's throat and her tail still twitched back and forth angrily.

"I told you, we do not speak of her," she said in a low voice.

"But Atahbah, you have to understand, she is not of the Moonborn, she is a Northling," said Ma'randru-jo, "Our way of life would not suit her." Atahbah said nothing, her ears flat against her skull and her eyes narrowed.

"You are right," she conceded at last, "I just… I saw M'Dar in her. Even though she is a Northling." Suddenly she laughed, "Moonsugar must finally be getting to me. But what will we do?"  
"We will send her to stay in Whiterun. Its stone walls, although they keep us out, they will provide sanctuary for her," said Ma'randru-jo, "She has no memories. No existence as you said. So she will have to make a new one. At least, until and if the memories return."

"So it is possible they won't?" replied Atahbah.

"It depends on what caused her to lose her memories in the first place," said Ma'randru-jo, "This one doubts it was the accident that did it."

"If it wasn't the accident, then what?" asked Atahbah.

"It is impossible to say," replied Ma'randru-jo, "It may be magic or perhaps something else. Skyrim possesses even more dangers than the Deserts of Elsweyr."

* * *

That evening Brechtje knelt before Ma'randru-jo. Her robes, which had become tattered and damaged during her ordeal, had been replaced with a white belted tunic and dark trousers.

"Atahbah and I have held counsel and we believe it would be best for you to stay here in Whiterun," said Ma'randru-jo, "The walls will provide you with protection while you decide your next move."

"But how will I decide my next move?" asked Brechtje, "Where do I start?"

"Take a look at your skills," advised Ma'randru-jo, "What are you good at?"

"Umm, magic, and I have a little experience with blacksmithing," replied Brechtje, "Only apprentice level though."

"It's better than nothing," said Ma'randru-jo, "How about domestic skills? Can you cook?"

"Um, yeah, yeah, I can," replied Brechtje hesitantly.

"I know this is daunting," said Atahbah understandingly, "But you'll be all right. The moons watch over us all." Brechtje nodded. "And here, take this." She handed Brechtje a small wooden amulet carved into the shape of a crescent moon.

"This will protect you from unseen dangers," explained Atahbah, "All Khajiit wear one when they travel. It brings good luck and foresight."

"Thank you," said Brechtje.

"And here, something to get you started," added Ma'randru-jo, handing her a small drawstring purse. It clinked as it landed in her palm. Brechtje opened the purse and looked inside. There were at least twenty septims nestled in the rough lining.

"Wow, thank you Ma'randru-jo," she smiled.

"It is no problem," replied Ma'randru-jo, "This should be enough for some food and a bed for the night. But you will need to find work of some sort quickly. I suggest you try the inn."

"We will be staying in Whiterun for some time," added Atahbah, "So if you need any advice, come find us."

"Thank you, Atahbah," said Brechtje.

* * *

Brechtje exited the tent later that evening as the first stars were starting to show against the velvet of the night sky. The stone walls loomed over her, throwing shadows across her path. Her back ached and she felt her heart begin to flutter as she neared the city gates. A guard stood on either side, garbed in yellow livery. Metal helmets obscured their faces and for some reason this sent a chill running down Brechtje's spine and her back throbbed painfully as she took a step back. One of the guards approached her.

"Halt," he said. His accent was strong and his voice commanding, "State your business here." Brechtje's mouth went dry and for a fleeting moment she didn't know what to say.

"I'm…I'm here to seek my fortune," she said, "I'm…seeking employment."

"Hmph, I saw you with those cats earlier," said the guard, folding his arms, "How do I know you aren't trying to smuggle skooma into the city?"

Brechtje felt a wave of indignation run through her at these words. Those "cats" had just saved her life. She'd heard of Skyrim's intolerance towards races and so far what she'd heard was being proven to be true.

"Search me then," she said boldly. The guard nodded and stepped towards her. He searched the coin purse Ma'randru-jo had given her and asked her to empty her pockets. As soon as he were satisfied that she wasn't carrying anything illegal he stepped back. "Alright, you may enter," he said, "But I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Brechtje stepped through the gates and a moment later they swung shut behind her. The streets were mostly empty as she stepped forward into the city. The first building she came to was a Blacksmith's. A forge was built onto the side of the two storey house and a smelter stood out the back. She heard voices singing discordantly through the windows of a shack perched up on a small mound and guessed it to be the local tavern. The size of the shack made it evident that this was not the inn Ma'randru-jo had mentioned earlier. Perhaps it was further on. The next house she came to was visibly dwarfed by the Blacksmith it stood next to. At first glance it looked like a cosy little cottage but closer inspection showed peeling paint and a general look of having fallen into disrepair several years ago. There was a plaque next to the door but the letters on it were too faded to read.

At last she reached the marketplace. Several permanent stalls lined the edges of the square but the produce from each had been packed away for the night. Lights glowed in the windows of the large squat building before her and spilled out onto the cobblestones. A sign swung in the breeze and on it was a painting of a horse. Below it in calligraphic writing were the words, 'The Bannered Mare.' Brechtje climbed the stone steps and peered in through one of the windows. The interior was bright and warm. A fire crackled in the fire pit in the centre of the room and wooden benches stood on either side. A woman stood behind the counter, serving a dark haired man in merchant's robes. Tables dotted the outer edges of the room and an archway led onto an adjoining room, most likely the kitchen.

Brechtje opened the door and stepped inside. A few faces turned to look at the door and after acknowledging her presence, returned to their mead. She stood there for a moment, at a loss for what to do.

"Excuse me, are you lost?" said a voice at her right. She turned to see a woman seated at a table. She had short cropped auburn hair and wore a long blue dress.

"Yeah, I'm new here," replied Brechtje, "I'm looking for work but," she shrugged her shoulders, "I don't really know where to start."

"You should talk to Hulda then," said the woman, "She's the innkeeper. Anyway, nice to meet a new face. I'm Ysolda."

"I'm Brechtje," replied Brechtje.

"It looks like Hulda might be busy at the moment," observed Ysolda, "Why don't you join me for a bit?"

"Ok, thanks," said Brechtje as she took a seat opposite the Nord woman.

"So, are you new to Skyrim or just Whiterun?" she asked.

"Skyrim," replied Brechtje, "I'm seeking my fortune."

"Your one of the few who are then," said Ysolda, "Ever since this war started, more people have been leaving to join the Legion. Belethor, the man standing over by the counter there, his brother left only a week ago and Sigurd, his apprentice, his cousin left for Solitude about a month ago. If the men keep leaving like this there'll be none left."

"What war?" asked Brechtje. Ysolda looked shocked by her response but carefully hid this.

"Are you joking?" she said. Brechtje shook her head.

"Must've been nice where you were, this war's plunged Skyrim into chaos," explained Ysolda, "The Imperials are fighting a band of rebels that call themselves the Stormcloaks. And because of this there are fewer guards patrolling the roads. Travel's become dangerous." Brechtje nodded. Ignorant of the war as she had been, she knew full well what Ysolda meant about travel.

"What can you tell me about Whiterun?" asked Brechtje.

"Well, there are three main districts," she began, "There's the Cloud District which is, as its name suggests, the highest point in the city. That's where the Jarl's palace, Dragonsreach, is. Then there's the Wind District where most of the houses are and finally there's the Plains District. That's where we are now. It's the place you're most likely to find work in."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," said Brechtje. Sitting in the warm comfortable atmosphere with the friendly young woman helped to relieve the tension of entering such a large city with little to no information on which course of action to take and she began to lean back in her chair.

"I think Hulda's free, you might want to take your chance now," said Ysolda, "Before Brenuin tries to wheedle another drink off of her."

Brechtje got up and made her way over to the counter where the woman she presumed to be Hulda stood. She had her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail from which a few loose strands were escaping and she wore a long deep orange dress which showed some wear at the seams. Her face was weather-beaten yet kindly.

"Well, looks like we have yet another new face in town," she observed, "Seems there have been more and more recently what with all the soldiers passing through. Anyway, what can I get you?"

"Umm, actually I was looking for work," replied Brechtje, "I arrived here today, to seek my fortune. Do you know anywhere I might look?"

"Depends on what sort of work you were looking for," said Hulda, leaning on the counter.

"Anything really," replied Brechtje, "Are there any jobs available here?"

"Not permanent ones, I'm afraid," said Hulda, "I've only just hired Saadia so for now I've got all the help I need." Brechtje's face fell. "But," continued Hulda, "I could use someone to do a little errand for me. Would you be interested?"

"What kind of errand?" asked Brechtje.

"I need someone to make a delivery for me. I'd do it myself but my shift isn't over until midnight and by then the shops will be closed," explained Hulda, "I need to deliver a few herbs and alchemy ingredients to Arcadia. She owns the apothecary, Arcadia's Cauldron, next door. Would you be interested?"

"Yes, definitely," replied Brechtje immediately.  
Hulda handed her two small wooden boxes. One contained several pine thrush eggs while the other contained bunches of frost mirriam.

"We've been using these in our recipes," she explained, "But Arcadia informed me that she could make equal use of them in various potions. I don't claim to understand much about her field but she's good with herbal remedies. Anyway, there's a few septims in it for you so hurry back."

Brechtje picked up the small boxes, tucking them under one arm as she made for the door. The air was cold as she stepped out onto the square but torches burning in the braziers made it easy to see her way ahead. The building next to the Bannered Mare was slightly taller, consisting of two storeys. Carved dragon heads adorned the steep sloping roof and a brazier piled with hot coals stood out in front. Brechtje crossed the square and pushed open the large wooden door. The interior held many alchemical ingredients on display. Bunches of elves ear and braids of garlic hung from the ceiling while many potions and powders dotted the shelves and displays. Other raw ingredients stood on the alchemy table in the corner, ready to be refined into purer forms for use in potions. A woman she guessed to be Arcadia stood behind the encounter. She was an Imperial with a visibly lined face, her dark brown hair pulled back behind her ears.

"Hello, traveller, here to purchase a cure all or just browsing for ingredients?" she enquired.

"Hello, are you Arcadia?" asked Brechtje.

"I am, yes," replied Arcadia, "And who wants to know?"

"I'm Brechtje, I've come with a delivery from Hulda," explained Brechtje, indicating the boxes.

"Ahh, yes, I've been expecting these," said Arcadia, opening the boxes, "I'll be able to make some fine pick me ups and potions to stave off the cold with these. Are you new to Whiterun? I don't believe we've met."

"New to Skyrim actually," said Brechtje, "I just got here today."

"Well, it's always good to meet a new face," replied Arcadia, "Far from home?"

"Yeah," said Brechtje, "Quite far, yes."

"In any case, if you need potions and ingredients, you know where to find me," replied Arcadia.

"Thanks," smiled Brechtje, "Anyway, I'd better get back to Hulda." She said goodbye to Arcadia before leaving the apothecary, heading back to the Bannered Mare. Hulda was waiting for her behind the counter.

"Thanks, this will save me from having to drop them round tomorrow," she said, dropping a few coins into Brechtje's hand, "Actually, if you're still looking for work I might have some more for you. I was talking to Adrianne the other day and she said she's in need of a little help. Nearly all the Blacksmiths in Skyrim are run off their feet at the moment but Adrianne's been feeling it more recently, ever since the feud between Clan Battle-Born and Clan Gray-mane started."

"Has this got anything to do with the Stormcloaks?" asked Brechtje.

"Ssh, ssh," Hulda hissed urgently, "Not so loud. That's not something you talk about so openly. Shor's bones, you really are new here." Brechtje blushed, apologising quickly.

"It's alright, just mind what you say," said Hulda.

As she said this the door opened and a tall Imperial woman wearing a blacksmith's apron walked in. She had a steel mace belted at her hip and wore her hair back in a ponytail.

"Ahh, just in time. Adrianne," said Hulda, "Didn't you tell me you were shorthanded down at the forge?"

"Yes, that's right. What, did you find me some help?" asked Adrianne.

"Perhaps, this is, sorry, what's your name?" asked Hulda.

"Brechtje," replied Brechtje.

"This is Brechtje, a newcomer. Maybe she could help out. Brechtje, how are you at a forge?" asked Hulda.

"Umm, I've had a little practice," replied Brechtje, "I know how to make small weapons and basic armour."

"Well, that should be good enough for what I need," said Adrianne.

"And if you do this for Adrianne I'll let you stay the night free of charge," added Hulda. Brechtje thanked Hulda and turned to face Adrianne. She was a formidable woman and Brechtje didn't know whether to be glad at the opportunity of more work and therefore more coin or intimidated, "Right now I can't afford to be picky," she continued, "Meet me down by the forge tomorrow morning. Get there early as there's plenty of work to be done." Brechtje nodded and thanked Adrianne.

"I'll show you to your room," said Hulda, "You'll need the rest. Follow me."


	3. Awakening

You'll see that my move caused quite a commotion,  
Now pick up your piece and set it in motion,  
I warn you, dear brother, though soon begun,  
It will not be long before I have won

It was the very essence of darkness but it could hardly be called a void. After all, it was not empty. Something hung suspended, black scales a perfect camouflage in its domain. It was motionless yet somewhere within it fragments of consciousness stirred. It began as a whisper, barely audible and the scaly behemoth made no move but the whispers grew more insistent, rising in volume. They spoke in a foreign tongue which at last caused him to open his eyes. And in that instant he realised he was indeed an entity and he had a tongue.

"Wo los hi?"

The voice produced no echoes. How could it when there were no tangible walls? He heard no response but he knew what was needed. He was awake. This was not a dream like the thousand instances before. A grin curled his lip as the realisation grew stronger. At last, with a terrible roar, he leapt forward as the void receded and he flew down into the world that materialized before him, fiery eyes aglow as a series of stone buildings came into his sights.

Brechtje sat bolt upright, the savage roar still ringing in her ears. She sat there for a moment, breathing heavily. She slowly put her hands to her face. They were cold and her palms were covered in a fine layer of perspiration. She didn't dare close her eyes for a few moments; so certain she would see those terrible eyes again. They were like the dying embers of a fire yet they burned with such intensity that she felt they could kill her with a mere glance.

She got out of bed, her back twinging and crossed the room to stand at the window. 'A dream, no, a nightmare, that was all it had been,' she told herself. She looked out of the window at the marketplace below. Outside the vendors were setting up their stalls and she heard the sharp clank of metal being struck emanating up from somewhere outside her field of view. It sounded like the kind of ambient noise heard around a Blacksmith's. Suddenly she stood up straight as a wave of realisation swept over her. She was late.

She hurried down the stairs, two at a time. Hulda was already awake and was throwing a couple of logs onto the fire.

"Good, you're awake," she observed, "I was just about to come up and get you. Better get down to Adrianne as soon as you can. She's not a patient woman. And here," she tossed Brechtje a sweet roll, "Take this, it's going to be a long day and you're going to need it."

"Thanks," said Brechtje as she hurried out the door.

The sunlight nearly blinded her as she exited the building and she put her hand up to shield her eyes. The marketplace was already abuzz with activity. She spotted Ysolda checking out a stall owned by a woman with long dark hair. She gave Brechtje a cheerful wave as she passed and Brechtje smiled, waving back.

She moved swiftly down the main street towards the Blacksmith, taking a bite out of the sweetroll as she went. The sponge was sweet and reminded Brechtje of just how hungry it was. She swallowed the last bite as she reached the Blacksmith. Adrianne was leaning against one of the posts, wearing a dark apron spotted with scorch marks.

"I was just about to go and ask Hulda where you'd got to," she said as Brechtje approached her, "I had hoped for someone a little better turned out. One without crumbs on her shirt." Brechtje blushed, brushing off the stray crumbs from her shirt.

"Oh well, beggars can't be choosers, follow me," Adrianne continued. Brechtje followed, feeling uneasy. With Adrianne's manner it was hard to tell if she had been joking beforehand and unfortunately Brechtje could see no reason why that should be the case.

Adrianne led her to the forge. It was a large stone affair with bellows rigged up next to it on a pulley mechanism and a trough of water next to it.

"I trust you already know how to use a forge," said Adrianne.

"Yes ma'am," replied Brechtje.

"We've had a few orders come in from the Battle-Borns over the past week," continued Adrianne, "Blades, helmets, that sort of thing." She must've caught the look of unease on Brechtje's face for she added, "I want you to handle the orders closer to home. We'll start you off with something simple. Ysolda came to me earlier, said she needed a new iron dagger, I'm sure you can handle that. All the materials you'll need are by the forge. I'll check back in a bit to see how you're getting on." With that she turned on her heel and left.

Brechtje donned a pair of thick gloves and picked up a length of iron in one hand, setting one end of it in the glowing forge. She reached for the rope and pulled, the bellows heaving and blowing gusts of air into the forge. After a few minutes the metal grew malleable and she lifted it out onto the anvil. Even with the gloves on she felt the heat radiating out from the piece of now orange metal. She picked up the heavy hammer and began pounding the length of iron.

The heat billowing out from the forge was strong and after barely half an hour had passed Brechtje was wiping stinging sweat out of her eyes. The blade was now more or less finished and after several more minutes she set it down in the trough of water while she went to the tanning rack to fetch some leather, cutting it into strips. She heard voices from the front of the shop and paused a moment to listen.

"Honestly, I swear you get through more swords than the Companions," said Adrianne, "How did it happen this time?" A second voice, about as low as Adrianne's but definitely feminine replied.

"I was sparring with Tolfgiir," the voice replied, "Blocking practice."

"Well, I'll see what I can do but it's received a real battering. Maybe you ought to use a wooden sword for this kind of thing," Adrianne advised.

"Yeah, maybe."

Brechtje edged forward a little more, peering around the side of the building. Adrianne was cradling a beat up sword in her hands, inspecting the blade. Standing next to her was a woman perhaps an inch taller than her. And Adrianne was certainly not one to be easily rivalled in height. The woman was dressed in the yellow livery of the Whiterun hold and had a now empty scabbard belted at her hip. Her hair was long and dark with a single braid hanging down one side of her face.

Suddenly she turned her head to look in Brechtje's direction. Brechtje ducked quickly out of sight and scooped up an armful of leather strips, dropping some in her haste.

"Who was that?" the woman asked.

"Who?" replied Adrianne.

"Someone ducked in behind the wall there," the woman pointed over to the wall behind which Brechtje was stooped, picking up the dropped strips.

"Oh, that's just the new help, Brechtje I think her name is," replied Adrianne, "A newcomer from what I understand."

"Not here to cause trouble I hope," said the woman.

"I shouldn't think so, Lydia," replied Adrianne, "She's a little scatter-brained perhaps but I see no harm in her. I'd better go see how that dagger's coming along. I'll have your sword ready by this afternoon if you want to drop by then and pick it up."

"Thanks Adrianne," said Lydia, "I'll see you later then." With that she left. Adrianne joined Brechtje by the workbench where she was securing the leather strips, joining the metal blade to the wooden hilt.

"How is it coming along?" she asked. Brechtje showed her the dagger.

"I've just finished it," she replied. Adrianne took it from her and examined it.

"Not bad," she commented, "Not bad at all. Just needs sharpened a little. Take it to the grindstone and sharpen it up. Afterwards I'll need you to start work on a leather helmet."

A couple of hours later Adrianne called Brechtje over from the forge.

"We're going to stop for lunch now," she said, "Do you want to join us?" Brechtje followed Adrianne into the shop. There was a table laid out next to the fireplace. At one of the chairs sat a man with a large bushy beard and beetle black eyes. She took a seat next to Adrianne, folding her hands in her lap.

"So, Adrianne tells me you're the new help," said the man. Brechtje nodded.

"Yes, sir," she said meekly. The man laughed, a jovial laugh.

"No need for such formalities, little lady" he said, "Just call me Ulfberth. Everyone else does. Anyway, Adrianne's been telling me you've been doing a good job." Brechtje smiled. "Ever since this whole mess started, things have been getting more and more difficult."

"You mean the…Stormcloaks?" Brechtje said hesitantly.

"Exactly," replied Ulfberth, "Nothing more than a cover-up for a band of troublemakers if you ask me."

"Who are they?" asked Brechtje. Ulfberth looked at her with undisguised surprise.

"The Stormcloaks?" he replied, "Ulfric's boys."

"Whose Ulfric?" asked Brechtje. Ulfberth looked more surprised than ever, as did Adrianne who had taken an interest.

"The Jarl of Windhelm," she said, "Or rather he was. The last I heard he was captured and taken to Helgen for an execution. The legion will just have to round up the rest of his followers once that's done."

"You're the first I've known who didn't know about this whole thing," added Ulfberth, "You just drop out of the sky or something?"

"No, I'm new here," replied Brechtje, feeling uneasy.

"I'll say," he said, "Fancy not knowing about Ulfric. Anyhow, they've stirred up this whole mess and it's, well, it's kept us busy, let's leave it at that." Brechtje nodded.

It was early evening by the time Brechtje left the blacksmith. The sun had just set and the first stars were just beginning to appear. She made her way up the hill the Drunken Huntsman stood upon and leant back against one of the wooden posts. Her arms ached a little from the bellows but the weight of the coins in her pocket made it so it hardly mattered.

She sat down on the cool grass and fished in her pocket for the coins. They were large and made of gold, the face of Tiber Septim etched into one side. There were fifteen of them. More than enough for a good meal. She smiled and her stomach rumbled at the thought.

"Eldrindir throw you out or something," said a voice behind her. Brechtje stood up quickly and turned to see the woman from earlier. She now carried a lit torch and the flames flickered in her green eyes.

"Whose Eldrindir?" asked Brechtje.

"Oh, it's you, the newcomer," said the woman, "Brechtje, right?"

"Yeah, and you're Lydia, right?" replied Brechtje. The woman nodded.

"What are you doing out so late?" she asked, "It gets dangerous after dark, you know. Most people like to be inside before now."

"Oh, I uhhh, I didn't know that," said Brechtje, "I was just…getting some fresh air. Thinking." Lydia smiled, an amused expression on her face. Brechtje smiled back.

"So, where do you come from?" asked Lydia. Brechtje shrugged her shoulders.

"From the south," she replied, gesturing vaguely.

"Funny, you don't look like an Imperial," observed Lydia, "I thought you might have been from one of the other settlements. Rorikstead perhaps." Brechtje shook her head.

"No, you from around here then?" she asked.

"Yeah, lived in Whiterun for all, well, most of my life," Lydia replied. Suddenly she stopped as she heard someone shouting. Whoever they were, they were calling desperately from outside the city walls.

"What's going on?" asked Brechtje as Lydia drew her sword, taking a few steps forward.

"You'd better get back to wherever you're staying at," Lydia said over her shoulder, "Go on." Brechtje nodded and hurried back in the direction of the Bannered Mare.

She glanced back over her shoulder once. Lydia, it seemed, had sheathed her sword and was now talking to someone. As the two of them began walking back along the road, Lydia leading the way, Brechtje ducked behind the door of the Bannered Mare and watched from the window as Lydia led the terrified looking man up the steps towards the Wind District.


	4. Helgen

A dragon. The news spread like wildfire. The following morning Brechtje awoke to the sound of many voices outside all talking at once. She got up and dressed quickly before making her way down the stairs. The inn was completely empty and even Hulda and Saadia were absent from their usual posts. She opened the door and looked out at the marketplace where several people were gathered. Standing at the front was a balding man wearing the Whiterun Guard's livery.

"Settle down, everyone, settle down," he shouted over the noise, "You're all perfectly safe, I assure you."

"How can you be so sure?" asked a man wearing a horned helmet, "This is a dragon we're talking about."

"And what about our children?" shouted Carlotta, "Will they be safe?"

"Everyone will be safe," replied the balding man, "As commander of this guard, I assure you we are doing everything we can. We have posted sentries at the Watchtowers. They will immediately send us word should a dragon come within a mile of here." Brechtje made her way through the confusion to where Hulda was standing.

"What's going on?" she asked, "What's this about a dragon?" Hulda turned to face her.

"We just got word of it this morning," she replied, "Apparently someone turned up last night yelling something about a dragon. Those who heard him thought he was mad."

"I think I saw him," said Brechtje, remembering the man she had seen with Lydia the night before, "What happened?"

"Well, it turns out he wasn't so mad after all. A dragon attacked Helgen, burned it to the ground by all accounts," explained Hulda, "So far it looks like he is the only survivor."

An image shot through Brechtje's mind in an instant. Eyes like glowing embers. A moment later, however, it was gone.

"And where's Helgen?" she asked.

"It's a small holding not far past Riverwood, a few miles south of here," replied Hulda, "And from what the man said, it looks like the dragon could be heading this way."

"The guards will be able to stop it though, won't they?" asked Brechtje.

"That's what Commander Caius says," replied Hulda, "But no man in living memory has ever so much as seen a dragon, let alone fought one. We'd better just hope it leaves Whiterun alone."

At last the Commander managed to get the crowd to disperse with promises of more frequent patrols around the city walls and scheduled reports from the watchtowers. For the most part things returned to relative normality, the only noticeable difference being the rise in the number of guards on patrol in and around the city.

The weeks slipped by and gradually the news of the dragon attack began to fade from the forefront of peoples' minds. Not that this stopped the nightly discussions in the Bannered Mare, the most lively of which were between Sinmir and a severe looking woman wearing steel armour. Brechtje settled back into her daily routine, going down to the Blacksmith each day to work and sometimes spending the evening down by the Khajiit camp. She had visited them on a few occasions, sometimes to seek advice and at other times, just to talk and share a mug of ale. The first time she had seen them after the news of the dragon attack they had been uneasy and not without just cause. Because of the Nord's general distrust of the Khajiit, they were not allowed inside the town walls. But as the weeks passed uneventfully they too began to settle back into their routine.

It was early evening and the sun was setting as Brechtje again made her way out of the heavy wooden gates, carrying a lantern.

"Mind you be back within an hour," one of the guards warned her, "The town gates close then."

"I will," Brechtje replied before continuing on down the cobblestone road. A cold wind blew along the road, tugging at the edges of the shawl she wore about her shoulders and nearly blew out the tiny flame within the lantern. She heard the camp before she saw it. Heard the crackle of the fire and the flutter of the tent flaps in the wind.

Ri'saad had packed away his wares and was now sitting around the fire with the others. The tallest of them, a chestnut furred bodyguard, was chopping wood on a chopping block a few yards away. Her ears twitched and swivelled in Brechtje's direction as she approached.

"Atahbah," she called to the brindle furred Khajiit sitting by the fire, "Your cub is here." 'Cub.' This was the nickname she had earned among the encampment, mostly for her height. She was barely as tall as Atahbah and Atahbah herself was by no means tall by Khajiit standards. Atahbah looked up and smiled as she saw Brechtje approach.

"Hello, little cub," she said, "I trust we find you well?"

"Yes, very well in fact," replied Brechtje as she sat down between Atahbah and Ri'saad, "Adrianne showed me how to make a full set of leather armour and she said she might have some other work for me."

"That sounds promising," Ri'saad commented, "And how much does this Adrianne pay you?"

"Twenty septims a day," Brechtje replied, "Enough for a room for the night and a good square meal."

"And this new work," continued Ri'saad, "Any idea what new opportunities that may bring?"

"None yet," replied Brechtje, "She said she'd tell me more about it tomorrow. I'll be sure and let you know when I find out." Her words were followed by a long silence which Atahbah finally broke.

"Well, that may not be the case, little cub," she began, "Remember when we first brought you here we told you we would only be staying here for a time?" Brechtje nodded. "Trade has dried up unfortunately and tomorrow we must pack up and move on." For a moment Brechtje did not reply. She had known of course that the Khajiit would have to move on but she had not dreamt it would be so soon.

"Where will you be going next?" she asked at last in a small voice.

"Markarth," said Ma'randru-jo, "The Ancient Dwemer city."

"What's in Markarth?" asked Brechtje, interested in spite of herself.

"A wealth of opportunity by all accounts," said Ri'saad, "Turns out with the abundance of silver in Cidhna Mine, they're short on some of the more basic minerals. Minerals we can provide."

"There are rumours," added Atahbah, "That the roads themselves are paved with silver." Brechtje heard Kayla laugh from her place by the chopping block.

"Yes, Atahbah," she teased, "And the rooftops shine with diamonds making the entire city gleam brighter than a Breton merchant's purse. I think not."

"Oh, this one is sure about that?" Atahbah shot back, "Yes, it may well be just rumours but I find it highly unlikely any of us will see beyond the walls to find out." Kayla's tale twitched with agitation as she returned her attention to the growing pile of timber.

"At any rate we will be leaving tomorrow morning," said Ri'saad, "We need to cover as much ground as we can while the sun is in the sky." Brechtje nodded.

"We plan to return before the end of Heartfire though," Atahbah reassured her, "Maybe by then you'll have a fine settlement." Brechtje laughed.

"Maybe so, maybe so," she replied, "I was looking around Whiterun actually, thought it might be a good way to spend my time off, but I haven't found anywhere that looks like it's up for sale. In fact, the only empty house is this little cottage by the Blacksmith but it's got some fire damage."

"How much of it is left?" asked Atahbah.

"Strangely the main structure is mostly intact," replied Brechtje, "At first I thought it was just a lot of soot around the windows but the left side of the roof has been blown apart."

"Ri'saad has heard the house fires in Nord settlements can be devastating," said Ri'saad, "This makes Ri'saad glad of the life of a traveller." He took a swig from the small purple bottle he was carrying and shook his head.

"At any rate, houses can be fixed," said Ma'randru-jo, "It might be worth getting some more information about it."

"Yeah, maybe," replied Brechtje, "It looks pretty spooky though. Might be haunted." Ma'randru-jo laughed.

"Little cub, do not fear such things," he chuckled, "Ghosts are just stories the Nords tell one another to instil fear. The dead are with us, certainly, but only as ancestral spirits, not these white wispy apparitions men speak of."

"You're sure, Ma'randru-jo?" asked Brechtje. Ma'randru-jo nodded, a grin still stretching across his feline features.

"Very sure, little cub," he said, "Anyway, it is getting late and the guards will soon be locking the town gates, won't they?"

"Yeah, I'd better get back," replied Brechtje, "I guess I'll see you in Heartfire."

"Of course," said Atahbah, "And we will look forward to hearing your tales. Surely you will have some to tell."

"I'm sure I will," smiled Brechtje. She got up and bade the Khajiit farewell before making her way back towards the town. The streets were quiet, most of the inhabitants having gone to bed and only a couple of men were left out on the street, having just staggered out of the Drunken Huntsman. It was an apt name for neither of the men looked like he was able to walk more than a few steps before falling flat on his face.

She felt a little subdued as she entered the warm atmosphere of the Bannered Mare. Heartfire was still quite a way off, it only being the beginning of Sun's Height. It would be another two months before the Khajiit would return. It was strange, she mused to herself. She had always been told the Cat folk of Elsweyr kept to themselves, not showing much in the way of care for the Nord folk but her experiences of the last few weeks had told her totally different. She had always found them warm and welcoming. Ri'saad could sometimes be a little gruff but he was well-meaning enough. It was he, after all, who had sold her a few sheets of leather on the cheap.

She took a seat by the fire and put her hands out, warming them over the flames.

"You're back early," said a voice over her shoulder.

"Oh, hey Ysolda," said Brechtje as the Nord woman sat down on the bench next to her.

"I heard from Carlotta that you've that you've been hanging around the Khajiit caravan," observed Ysolda. From another's perspective her tone might've sounded accusing, something that had earned her more than a couple of arguments and misunderstandings in the past and it could certainly be said she was a little on the nosy side. But Brechtje had yet to find any malice in her words. She was, simply put, a gossip.

"Yeah, they're leaving tomorrow," replied Brechtje.

"Where for?" asked Ysolda.

"Markarth," replied Brechtje, "Where is that anyway?"

"Over in the Westernmost part of Skyrim," said Ysolda, "In the Reach."

"What's it like over there?" asked Brechtje, remembering Atahbah's words from earlier.

"Well, I only know what the traders tell me," Ysolda began, "But I know it's an old Dwemer city built straight into the mountains themselves. There are a lot of silver deposits around there."

"And the streets?" said Brechtje, "Are they really-?" At this Ysolda laughed.

"Paved with silver?" she replied, "No, that's just an old merchant's tale. Mind you, I have heard there are a lot of opportunities in Markarth. I'd sooner keep my distance though."

"Why's that?" asked Brechtje.

"They've had quite a lot of trouble up there recently from what I've heard," explained Ysolda, "Some group of barbarians that call themselves the Forsworn."

"Seems like Skyrim's had a lot of trouble recently, one way or another," observed Brechtje.

"It's this damned war," sighed Ysolda, "As things stand now," she lowered her voice, "I really don't care which side wins so long as peace is restored." Brechtje nodded, "But I'd better not allow Sinmir to catch me saying that."

"Whose Sinmir?" asked Brechtje. Ysolda gestured towards a man sitting at the back of the room. He wore a set of heavy looking iron armour and a horned helmet.

"Anyway, how about I get us a drink?" Brechtje asked, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

"Oh, just an ale for me," replied Ysolda, "Thanks."

Brechtje got up and crossed the room to the counter. "Hey Hulda," she said, "Can I get a mead and an ale?" She handed the coins to Hulda and leant on the counter.

"Here you go," said Hulda, setting the bottles down on the polished wooden surface.

"Thanks Hulda," said Brechtje, picking up the bottles and carrying them across the room to re-join Ysolda. She handed her the bottle of ale.

"Thanks," said Ysolda, "Have you heard anything more from Adrianne about the new work?"

"Not yet," replied Brechtje, "She said she'd tell me more tomorrow."

"Sounds promising though, whatever it is," said Ysolda.

She spent another while talking to Ysolda before bidding her goodnight and climbing the stairs to her room. She flopped down gratefully onto the sheets and rolled over onto her side. After a few minutes her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.


	5. Riverwood

The room was cold and dark and unimaginably large. She shivered, drawing her knees up under her chin. Her eyes could pick out next to nothing in the gloom and her ears picked up even less. Perhaps the most horrible thing about this place was the silence. It pressed in on her, constricting her. She felt as though any sound she made would be immediately swallowed up by the silence and lost. When at last she did make a sound, it came out so hoarse and worn out that it did not feel like her own voice. Then she did hear something, a low hiss. It was difficult to pinpoint the source of the noise at first. That is until it slithered across her foot and she leapt back with a shriek, kicking the snake away. Then she heard something else, something which in some ways chilled her more than the feeling of the snake's scales against her skin. It was the sound of rattling chains.

Brechtje awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. She pulled up the blankets around her, trying to shake off the cold that penetrated her small frame. Her hands shook as she wiped at her forehead. She got up and looked outside. It was still dark and she guessed it to be only a few hours past midnight. She'd only slept a few hours but it felt like days had passed. She pulled on her boots and drew her shawl about her before descending the stairs to the room below.

Hulda had already gone to bed and Olfina was piling a few extra logs on the fire. She looked up and nodded when she saw Brechtje before returning to her work. Brechtje took a seat by the fire, her shawl drawn tightly about herself. It had felt so real, the snake, the cold. She shivered at the thought. She jumped as she heard a loud snore and looked over to see a Redguard man slumped by the counter, a large bottle of wine at his side. She curled up on the chair, tucking her feet up underneath her. She looked around once again. The inn was now empty aside from the sleeping Redguard and even Olfina's steps had receded up to her quarters above the kitchen that she shared with Saadia.

She held her hands out in front of her and gradually a ball of light formed between her palms. If there was one thing she could count on to keep her nerves at bay, it was a ball of magelight. She bounced the tiny light on her palms, letting it pass from one hand to the other. It was bright and exuded a little warmth, like when a torchbug hovered just overhead, tiny wings buzzing. The light too emitted a sound, a light hum.

After a time she extinguished the light in her palm and sat back, feeling calmer than before. She got up and made her way back up to her room where she switched her tunic and hoes for something a little more durable. She looked out the window again and found that more time had passed than she had realised. The sun was just rising over the mountains and a few guards were out patrolling the battlements.

She went back downstairs and out into the marketplace. Only the meat stall, owned by a Bosmer, was open, the stock hanging from hooks or sitting in the wooden trays.  
She walked down the main street towards the Blacksmith where Adrianne was already waiting.

"Good, you're here," she said as Brechtje approached, "Nice and early this time." She took Brechtje aside, "Well, as for the work I promised, I think I know something you might be interested in. It'll get you one step closer to being truly settled and might even earn you some respect in the process."

"What kind of work is it?" asked Brechtje.

"Something a little more active than working metal, though I have to admit you're becoming quite good at that," replied Adrianne, "Might have to ask you to join as an apprentice at this rate. Anyhow, if you want to know more about it you'll have to go up to Dragonsreach. If anyone asks, say you're looking for a man named Proventus and tell them I sent you. That should be more than enough."

"Thanks Adrianne," smiled Brechtje.

"Now, hurry along, it could be a long job and you'll want all the daylight hours you can get," said Adrianne. Brechtje thanked her again before hurrying off back up the main street.

Dragonsreach, the largest building in the entire city, sat up on the lofty hill of the Cloud District, overlooking the rest of the town. It was an imposing looking building and Brechtje stood for some minutes, looking up at the stone carvings that decorated it. At last she took a deep breath and pushed open the large oak doors.

The interior was vast with a long carpet that led up towards the back of the building. It was lavishly decorated with banners baring the Whiterun coat of arms and a long table on either side near the back, set for the morning meal. An old woman stood with a broom, sweeping the carpet. Brechtje made her way forwards up the stone stairs. At the back of the room was a throne occupied by a blonde haired man wearing expensive looking robes. At his right stood a man garbed in equally lavish robes and on his left stood a Dunmer wearing a set of armour. When she saw her the Dunmer advanced forwards and, to Brechtje's alarm, drew her sword. She gulped and took a step back.

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" she said brusquely, "The Jarl is not receiving visitors." Brechtje swallowed nervously before replying.

"I was sent here to look for someone named Proventus," she said. The Dunmer lowered her sword but still regarded her with suspicion.

"And who sent you?" she asked.

"Adrianne, down at the forge," Brechtje replied. The Dunmer waited a moment before sheathing her weapon.

"Very well, follow me," she said. She led Brechtje up towards the throne.

"Proventus, your daughter has sent you someone who claims to be looking for you," the Dunmer informed the balding man in fine robes standing next to the Jarl.

"Adrianne sent you?" he said.

"Yes sir," replied Brechtje.

"Hmm… you seem to have a civil tongue in your head," said Proventus, "Keep that up and we will have little to quarrel about. Now, what is it that you want?"

"Adrianne said you might have some work for me," said Brechtje.

"I don't recall having any jobs open at the moment," he replied. Brechtje's heart sank. "But let me check with the Jarl first. He might have some use for you."

He withdrew and approached the man sitting on the throne. He stayed there for several moments, the two men talking in low voices.

Brechtje strained to catch what they were saying but one sideways glance from the Dunmer told her to mind her own business.

At last the Jarl himself got up and approached her. Now that she saw him up close she saw that he was younger than he first appeared.

"So, Proventus tells me you're looking for work," he said. His voice was softer than would have been expected.

"Yes sir," replied Brechtje.

"Very well, follow me," said the Jarl, "Farengar, our court wizard, should have some work for you." Brechtje's eyes brightened at these words. A job involving magic? It sounded promising.

The Jarl led her into a small room at the side of the main hall. It was easy to tell it was a wizard's chamber from the moment she set foot inside. Along one wall stood an enchanting table and an alchemy stand, the latter of which was piled high with sprigs and roots of various plants, bowls of different coloured powder and mushroom of varying sizes and shapes. The desk was cluttered with scrolls and soul gems and books were piled high on every surface.

Standing by the desk was a young man garbed in dark blue wizard's robes.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project," said the Jarl. Dragon project? Those two simple words sent shivers along Brechtje's spine. Surely they couldn't be asking her to go out looking for it. Not alone.

"Dragon Project?" she said shakily.

The Jarl must have noticed her alarm because he added, "We're not expecting you to go out and look for the dragon of course. A dragon is hardly a one man, ahem, I mean uhh, one woman job."

"Certainly not," said Farengar, "Besides, no one knows where it is. It could be miles from here for all we know. No, what I need you to do is go and retrieve something for me."

"What kind of something?" Brechtje asked, allowing herself to relax a little.

"An ancient stone tablet," replied Farengar, "It's said to contain a detailed map showing all the locations of dragon burial mounds."

"And where is it?" asked Brechtje.

"We've received word that it's located within an old tomb a few miles south of here," explained Farengar, "A place known as Bleak Falls Barrow." Brechtje swallowed nervously but nodded.

"How do I get there?" she asked.

"Take the road south of here until you reach Riverwood," he replied, "I'm sure one of the locals will be more than able to assist you."

"I'll head out right away then," said Brechtje.

"Good, sooner begun, sooner done, am I right?" said Farengar, clapping his hands together.

A few minutes later saw Brechtje making her way down to the marketplace. Her heart was hammering away in her chest and she did her best to keep thoughts of the tomb out of mind.

She stopped at the market stalls, stocking up on supplies for the journey.

Adrianne called to her as she walked past the Blacksmith. "So, how did it go?" she asked.

"Well, I've got myself some work," Brechtje replied, "I'll probably be gone a few days though."

"I'm sure we can manage until you return," smiled Adrianne, "But an adventure. Sounds exciting. Might have some tales to tell on your return then, mightn't you?"

"Maybe," said Brechtje, rather hoping the opposite, "Well, I'd better get going if I want to reach Riverwood by nightfall."

"Hang on a moment," said Adrianne, "Before you go, I have a couple of things that should come in handy." She disappeared into the shop and reappeared a moment later carrying an iron dagger and a helmet crafted from animal hide. Brechtje smiled, taking the items from Adrianne.

"Thanks, Adrianne," she said as she pulled the helmet down over her ears and belted the dagger at her hip.

"Hurry back, won't you, Brechtje?" said Adrianne.

"I will," Brechtje replied as she made for the town gates.

The Mid Year sun was climbing up into the sky as she walked down along the cobblestone path that led away from the walled town. Despite the weather being at its mildest even at Skyrim's Northern reaches, Brechtje shivered in the stiff morning breeze. The scenery around her was breath-taking. To the South was a mountain range that stretched as far as she could see and among them was the tallest mountain in all of Tamriel, the Throat of the World. She could only imagine what it must be like to stand at the top with the whole continent at her feet. It almost made her dizzy just looking up at it.

She followed the cobblestone path down beside a river and found herself wondering exactly where she had washed ashore. As she gazed at the water she could dimly recall the cold water closing in over her. She shook her head, dislodging the unpleasant memory. As she walked she tried to think about what went on before. Who was Malkir and why had that name stayed with her while the rest was lost? All that was left of the other memories were bright flashes of light and a rushing sound. She touched the amulet at her neck but something felt different. She looked down at the amulet Atahbah had given her. No, nothing was different.

"I'm going nuts," she muttered to herself as she continued walking, putting the uncomfortable thought out of her head, "I wonder what's so special about this tablet anyway," she mused to herself, "And what's it doing mouldering away in an old tomb if it's so important."

She walked past the meadery and followed the road up the hill. It curved this way and that, zigzagging up the steep slope. As she climbed higher a rushing sound which had remained in the background of noise began pushing its way to the forefront until eventually it was all she could hear. For some reason the sound filled her with unease, it sounded eerily similar to the sound in her broken remnant of a memory. As she climbed higher fear clutched at her and she almost hesitated. She broke off from the road, putting some distance between her and the roar. She could give herself no rational explanation for such sudden fear and this only served to cause her more alarm.

At last the roar began to fade away and now she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She realised that she had been clutching the amulet tightly in one hand, so tightly in fact that her knuckles were white. As the fear subsided she began to feel a little foolish. It was only a waterfall after all and there was plenty of distance between her and it. Strangely it was not the tumbling of water itself that scared her, just the sound.

As the sun reached the noon point she stopped, sitting down on a large boulder and pulling out the small bag. She removed a slice of bread and some cheese and began to eat. She gazed back over the distance she had covered; not bad for a morning's worth of travel. But she guessed she still had quite a ways to go so a few minutes she packed up her things and continued on her journey.

It was late afternoon by the time she saw the stone archway. Beyond it lay a small village. Fires were burning in braziers outside some of the buildings and a few lights were on in the windows. A guard restlessly patrolled the walkway overhead, footsteps creaking on the wooden path. Brechtje crossed through the archway and looked around. The building next to her was built on a small hill and had stone steps leading up to it. A sign creaked in the wind that read, "The Sleeping Giant Inn." She looked up at the sky. It was certainly too late to go looking for old tombs tonight so she decided maybe a good night's sleep wouldn't hurt.

She stepped into the warm interior. It was not quite as welcoming as the Bannered Mare and there were fewer people about but as long as it had warm beds, that was all that mattered. She made her way down to the counter where a man with dark hair pulled back behind his ears stood. He wore a patched and spotted cook's clothes and leant on the counter, looking tired.

"Hello, can I get a room?" Brechtje asked. The man shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he rumbled, "Delphine's away at the moment, she's the innkeeper. I'm just the cook." He paused, "But you can put your head down on the table for as long as you want. I won't bother you." Brechtje nodded and made her way over to the nearest bench. So much for a warm bed. Well, at least the air rising up from the long fire pit that ran down the centre of the room was warm. She sat down at the rough wooden table and put her head down on her folded arms. She gazed into the fire through a gap in her folded arms until at last sleep took over.


End file.
